Making the Wall of Fame

I came back from work early yesterday. God knows I needed to get some housework done. With a dog on heat in a small apartment, cleaning just got harder and needed more than ever on a daily basis. So the first thing I did after giving Piggy a rub on her ears when I got home, was plunk on the couch and turned on the TV. American Idol was on, and so was Norman Gentle.

For those of you who actually followed through American Idol's Hollywood week from season 8, you would remember "Norman Gentle", a exuberant enthusiastic guy in his 30's who wore his signature glitzy techni-colored shirt. The guy wasn't Pavarotti or Mick Jagger, but well, he could sing. Out of all the queers who have auditioned for American Idol for the past 9 years, he was the very first Queer to make it through the top 24.

 People come in all shapes, sizes, colors and personalities. And in our lifetime, we are sure to meet at least one extraordinarily queer person. Whether it is their choice of fashion, or their personality. It could be a pathological liar or a person who has ego the size of a football field, or a queer sense of fashion, such as, Norman Gentle. So I invite you to put down your nominees for that special queer person, who has made a lasting impression/dent/damage/memory in your life when you comment on the post and i will include the description on this post.

1.  The self proclaimed hunk who has the urge to get strangers to feel his muscles lest they don't believe that he has any. He has also (according to him) traveled the world and experienced everything in life. I.E; if you said you've played Cinderella in a child's play, he would have probably claimed to have done so too.


2. The confused man who has an identity and nationality crisis. For example, when in Aussie, claim to be an Aussie. When in company of Malays, claim to be of Malay heritage.


3. The pathological liar who can't distinguish lies from fact because he is so used to lying. I.E, forgetting how many kids he has actually fathered out there.


4. The one who has an issue with "bathing" daily though living in a hot humid country. Justification: Water strips off your body's natural defense barrier


5. The "tak-jadi-rock-star" who abuses his wife and believes that it is part and parcel of life


6. The one who stuffs used sanitary pads in her drawers. Justification: NO IDEA


7. The one who is overbearing up to a point of it not being humanly possible. Then again, she's hardly any human anymore.


8. The one who talks about her sex life and her sex life ONLY, even to strangers


9. The one who wants to nail everything and anything with a va-jay-jay


10. The one who is brilliant and successful, but would not touch the door knob. Justification: OCD


11. The kleptomaniac that steals everything, and parades it without guilt or fear

From the Same Mother

Whenever I hear my friends exchange stories about siblings, it really makes me wonder, how it would be like if I had one.

I grew up talking to my tiny green soldier men. Filling the water up in my mom's semi automatic washing machine so that my "soft-toyed-buddies" come take a dip in it when it's a hot day outside. I offered my share of toys as peace offerings whenever my friends who came over to play were mad and wanted to go home. Every time a cousin/friend/neighbour went home after a play date, I would snuggle up and cry.

People say that the only child has it all. Undivided attention, love, toys, no one to fight with. But it also came with  no one to push the blame on when I screwed up, a companionless childhood, and alot of imaginary friends made out of cotton stuffings can buttoned eyes. I always wondered how it would be like to have a sibling. Older, younger, male or female, i wasn't picky. I just wanted to have a friend to grow up with.

I guess growing up as the only child made me weird in ways. I am by all means, horrible at mending broken relationships/friendships. I can't sleep through the night knowing someone somewhere is mad or dissatisfied with me. I find it hard to give up things or opinions that are rightfully mine. I do not handle conflict well, I suck at keeping in touch, and i find it weird that people forgive their siblings for the darnest things that I would probably keep a grudge for for eternity.

I'm learning, and though it might take me a longer journey than many others to learn how to give and take, I'm getting there.

The Prodigal Daughter

There are many reasons why I never seem to visit home often enough. Some older generations call me an ungrateful bitch who lacks all sense of filial piety. My childhood friends think i'm too involved with City life to care much about home. My city friends think I'm lucky, because they either stay half an hour from their parents, or in their parent's basement. My workmates probably don't even know that my parents are still alive, judging by the weekends i have appointments and events lined up for.

I just started Scrap-booking about 5 months ago. It started when recession hit, I was jobless and down, and found it hard to get out of bed every morning. The sickening feeling of my whole world crashing down and the self pity syndrome sent "why me?" impulses through my neurons every hour of the day. I was browsing through the streets of Bangsar aimlessly one day and walked through a craft shop. As I looked at the overpriced stickers and craft materials, I thought, why not? Maybe scrap-booking might take my mind of one thing or another, and hence the project started.

Scrap-booking did help me feel better, because for once in months, i was focusing on the good times I had before and started being grateful for those happy memories. Cutting out ridiculous shapes of paper and coloring the pages with decoratives seemed childish, but it brought back some sort of Zen in my life. But what scrap-booking brought back was also guilt, and a hard hitting fact of why I chose to be distant from my loved ones, my parents.

The low down is, I love being the ungrateful daughter that I am. I love being the prodigal daughter who keeps running off and way, and coming back for love and support and running off in the next exit i can find again. THAT, is my coping strategy of being away from home. Not many people understand how hard it is to live in the city all alone, starting out without daddy putting in dosh for your first car installments, or daddy offering to pay for a holiday trip for you so that you can go on a family trip even if you can't afford it on your own. I have to work, put up with bullshit, pay my bills, and yet worry about being there for my parents and enjoying whatever last years they have left with them. That is probably the hardest part, whatever last years.

It's not news that parents eventually and usually depart before their children. But being close to them, and visiting them often, and spending time with them, only nails the reality deeper into my subconscious. Being closer to them, only makes it harder for me when they do leave. Every time my mother or father shows their support and concern, it overwhelms me so deeply that it brings tears to my eyes. And I find it easier to push their charity of affections out of my way rudely, and deal with it my own hard way. And thats why I'd rather be this ungrateful daughter, than to suffer and miss them so dearly now, than to miss them so much when they are gone.

The "Mongrel" Heritage

Yes yes, I've been talking alot about food lately. Eat them, don't eat them, diets and hunger pangs, cravings..

I don't really know which part of my heritage I am proud of. The Eurasian side, which can't cook to save their lives, and insist that they have no Indian ancestry although they are mostly darker than an average Malaysian Indian? Or the Peranakan Nyonya heritage where my mother refuses to adorn the kebaya all throughout her life, and slaves away in the kitchen.

Growing up, I didn't like being the "mongrel" that I was. I came from a gigantic school, with 3000 over students from both morning and afternoon sessions. During my form one History project, I chose to do the history of my school, rather than the history of my family because I thought, too many mixes, too messy. It was only then that I found out how exclusive I was. There was only 1 person who was classified under the race of "lain-lain" (the others) and that was me. I used to get annoyed when people asked me what I was, and most often tempted to reply with "That's none of your business!" It was because, I really didn't know how to explain what, who or why I was what I was.

I never thought of how special my heritage was. I just thought we were oddballs. The marriage between the two most complex heritage in the region, had us celebrate both Christmas and Chinese New Year (CNY). However, our celebration of the festivities were none like others which I knew of. The food we put on the table during these festivities, seemed far from the normal average chinese family or Christmas celebrating families.

While steamboats were a common tradition during CNY, my family always had Rendang Ayam Nyonya, Kiam Chye Ark ( mustard leaves soup), Jiu Hu Char ( turnips and squid), Acar Awak ( vegetable acar ), Lum mee ( hokkien fried wet noodles), Chap Chye (mixed vege and mushrooms with soybean paste), Itim Tim (Braised Duck with Spices) and Bakwan Kepiting Soup (Crab, Fish and Pork meatball soup) on the table.

And while my friends' parents were going around scouting the biggest and juiciest turkeys in town for Christmas and busy making casseroles; Deviled Curry, Acar Awak, Pot Roast Spiced Chicken, Vindaloo Chicken, Eurasian jumbo curry puffs, and Nasi Lemak with the many kinds of sambals were a must on the table.

I never really invited friends to my house for the festivities, as I was always concerned over how odd they would find my family. My idea of the authentic festivity food that should be on the table, was influenced by what I watched on TV and least did i know that I had a special heritage going on.

I've stayed away from home for more than 8 years now, and I can't help but crave for the things that my mom used to put on the table. Recently, i found myself amongst the few of my generation who are scrambling to grab whatever thats left of the traditions our ancestors have left for us. It is sad that take outs and western food has infiltrated our market more than our traditional food. For instance, it is way easier for me to find a good plate of German pork knuckles, burger, steak or a hearty authentic serving of Italian food, than to find a single Nyonya restaurant who cooks real authentic food which brings back childhood memories.

Crossroads

As I watched the family of three with number 4 on the way sit down for lunch, I see mom shoving food down her throat with the spoon in one hand, the other hand instinctively moving away objects that her little one might grab and daddy topping up the dish plate with more food and packing up the car with their stuff for their long journey drive. They have a house, a car,a high flying career each, a kid and another one on the way, insurance, savings, bonds and plans for at least the next 15 years down the road. They're secured no matter what others might say about their lives.

I can't help but wonder what have i got? I am aware that comparisons are bad because no two people are the same. I can't always keep up with the Jones otherwise I'll be left behind in fulfilling my own dreams. I don't want to end up chasing other people's dreams and thats a very thin line to cross when you start comparing yourself to others. Having disclaimed to my fullest content, my point is that, what bothers me is MY personal accomplishments. That I am far from fulfilling my dreams, especially when I barely even scratched the surface in providing myself with the bare necessities. 

The bigger realization is that, I don't even know what I want anymore, or where my goals lie, or who I am. I'm neither here nor there, and truthfully, it hurts to be lost especially for someone who always ALWAYS has an action plan. 


I'm sure that if anyone reads this, they might feel that my post drips with ungratefulness, especially when I have so much to be thankful for, and yet i feel indifferent towards what they think about this. Reason being, I have yet to see the light at the end of the tunnel for as long as I have lived. I have always lived the hard life, fighting and clawing for little shreds of luck that have fallen out of someone else's silver spoon. I see people lament about living overseas, about the loneliness, about being lost in the material world, about not finding that ray of hope which directs them to the correct path and much more. Yes those are major issued to iron out, those are phases which i can only wish they didn't have to go through. While living a lost life without a sense of direction can retard your self growth, living a life without much choices, is much, i repeat, MUCH worse off.

 Although i have been blessed to have found my passion in working for a cause, I haven't found the way to make my life wholesome. I'll be hypocritical to say that passion is ALL i need to have to survive and that i can live on rain water and sunshine. Passion is an essential part of the work that you do, otherwise you'd just be a drone. But passion which comes with no appreciation in the form of cash or words, is not worth it.


Thank you social work, for filling my soul with such completeness, that I am doomed to be in debt for life. 

Cooking Rampage

I've been waking up thinking of food the entire of last week. Before you call me a hopeless glutton, i assure you that it is the lack of sleep, excruciatingly painful throat and carnage of taste buds it has caused that have made me a tad bit nostalgic over those "comfort food" I grew accustomed to having at home whenever I was not at top form.

While some people might find bangers and mash, macaroni and cheese, a big fat double cheese burger, lasagna or chocolate soufflé comfort food, mine lies in the depths of my mother's Peranakan kitchen. When I think of my mother, I think of food. Being the typical chinese mother, her way of showing her love was definitely not through hugs and kisses and constant eulogies of my accomplishments, but by putting a dish prepared with "heart and soul" on the table. My response back to her, is devouring it to every last morsel and emphasizing on how marvelous it tastes. My mother is a typical Peranakan who spends hours in the kitchen after each meal, preparing for the other. But she never cooks for herself, it is always others, she cooks for.

I always equate my mother's characteristics to her food. My mother's love is like a big bowl of "Kiam Chye Ark" ( Duck and sour mustard leaves soup) where it's been brewed for hours till the vegetable fibers disintegrate but soak up the lovely broth of the duck with a sour tinge to make sure that you can never have enough of it, ever...  So it is no wonder that on my bad or ill days, when I am positively deprived of my mother's presence, all I can think of is her food, and taste buds will just come floating back to me even just it is just through imagination.

Although I am more capable than my chinese mother in showing more emotions to my peers, cooking for others is always one of the top ways i choose to use to say thank "you", "sorry", "I'm thinking of you" or "I love you". The best way so, is replicating my mother's famous recipes which is a hell of a feat, especially since her measurements commensurates to the size of her "thumb" and her endless steps to cooking just one dish. While I have been successful so far, and gained numerous compliments for the authenticity of my cooking skills in comparison to its traditional taste, my satisfaction comes more from the smile I put on others when they taste my food because I know that I have successfully brought them on a journey back to the good old days.

As far as the apply falls from the tree, chances are that if I ever bother to offer to cook for you, it would be a gesture of affection, because I am my mother's daughter after all.

The High Rise Generation

Last night, I got into the same elevator as my next door neighbour. She got in first, pressed the floor number button, and we remained silent without any exchange of courteous salutations throughout our journey to floor 22. Since I was closest to the door, I got out first and thought it was funny that she pressed the "shut door" button. A second later, she realised that it was her floor, and probably realised too, that I was her neighbour for the first time in one and half years of me living next door. 

I obviously knew who she was, I see her all the time. I see her pesky kids hanging their hands out of the front door grill everytime I walk past to get to the elevator without them once smiling at me, or calling me "aunty" or "che che" for common courtesy sake. 

But this is nothing uncommon now is it?, whether in the city or in the suburbs, people just don't socialise around anymore. You would think that living in a building with 100 odd other families would mean that you'd have some decent friends out of some good neighbours, but the high rise lifestyle is a hindrance to social etiquettes and have certainly made people more individuated. I used to smile at people in the lift, but after a few nasty glance backs or snub to my face in a "i-dont-know-you-freak" manner, I have decided to not publicly humiliate myself any further.   

The thing that bugs me is, more new aged couples are bringing up their children in this setting. The sad fact is that unless you are willing to live in one end of the world, take 3 hours to commute to and from work everyday, you will not be able to afford a landed property in the city, without serious decades-long debts and a tighter belt around your waist. 

Think about the simple things that shaped our characters that the younger generations are going to miss. The simple act of befriending your neighbours can teach children social skills which will be priceless when they grow up. The fact that children can't even have pets in their apartments, can't play outdoor games, or miss the chance in experiencing the wonders of nature everyday, means that the grow up in a robotic, no love, no compassion setting. And we wonder why kids these days are couch potatoes and game-gadgets addicts. 

My point is that, I grew up digging sand in tiny garden ( we lived in a low cost house). Picking out beautiful lady bugs and insects and flowers and putting them back without hurting them. I grew up learning that earth worms are not to be killed upon sight as they make the land fertile, and that hairy icky caterpillars turn into beautiful butterflies. I grew up talking with the kids next door, exchanging toys and playing make beliefs with a fence in between us ( because my mother was over protective and never let me out to play alone without her supervision). I learnt to climb trees, i learnt to train my dog how to "paw-shake" and "sit" unpon command, I learnt to say "hello aunty/uncle!"  to my neighbours everytime i saw them in their own yard. 

How sad is it that the "High-Rise" generation will be missing out on all the human touches and neighbourly values simply because of where they live. This is called deprivation. Not the absence of a myriad of musical classes and Kumon math sessions.

Do you even know your neighbor's name?

"10 Things I Hate about You"

I was watching Desperate Housewives (DH) last night, while nursing my loss of all forms of motivation since the World Cup has ended. Truly, this is like going through withdrawal symptoms of a beautiful love affair with 22 different men every night.

Something from Desperate Housewives struck me. It was an episode where Gabby returned to NY to look for her niece which she had introduced to work at her previous modelling agency. In case you didn't know or are not part of the DH cult, Gabby was a ex-successful-runway model. To her surprise, she bumped into a couple of models whom she worked with during her heydays, only to receive worse than hostile treatment. See, Gabby wasn't a nobody in her heydays, in fact she was a big time model who used to cause other models to be green with envy. But that was not just it, she was brazen, snobbish, spoilt and well, a bitch..

I suddenly thought of all the people that I knew in a passing-by in College, and how if i met them today, they would snub me or rather acknowledge my nonexistence. When I was in college, I always had my clique. We would go for lunch together, hang out together, cause a ruckus together, and laughed at ill fashion sense passer byers together. The clique was impenetrable, simply because of, lame popularity concerns. If you were new and we thought you had potential, we would try to recruit you.

I wouldn't say I was a snob, but neither was I super friendly either. I was the kind who would be nice and pleasant to you if you sat next to me in class, but after lecture hours, i moved back into my clique and would most likely not invite you for lunch even if you were sitting on the stairs alone eating out of a tupperware. Yes, I was a prat, but I was also 19, so give me some credit for being the dumb blonde wannabe.

The past few years, I bumped into a few ex college mates here and there. While their response to my "hellos" were less than lukewarm, I could sense the quizzical look on their faces which read, "Why start now?"  I remember meeting this girl that used to sit next to me in my Cognitive Psychology class. She was really nice, always flustered but also a victim of common sick jokes of other cool kids at college for how rotund she looked. While I did not evolve into her bestie, I was always nice to her. But when I met her last year, I pat she shoulder to say hi and all I got was "oh, hi" and she walked away. Snubbed me through and through. Ouch!

Maybe it was my fault, for not being more sensitive or what-not. Or not standing up for them when they were being teased. But in my defense, I was never part of the "teasing squad". But sometimes looking and laughing along, makes you the devil's advocate as well.

I'm sure if I met any one of those girls from college now, and gave them a paper to justify the 10 things they hated about me, they would surely ask, "10 only?"

Sigh..

A Nation Doomed to Never Progress

There is a common understanding that service help providers for the marginalized communities in Malaysia, are not what we expect them to be. Or at least, a common understanding amongst those who are in this line of work, or have been.

It is no secret, that prisoners in our prisons, are raped by their wardens or care providers, both men and women. It is also not unheard of, that drug rehabilitants, exchange sexual favors with their wardens or prison officers for a fix of heroin, and they end up leaving the rehabilitant center, more addicted than ever, with greater contacts of drug dealers to purchase their drugs from. It is not unheard of, that refugees or migrants in the detention holding centers are abused, live in horrible conditions, sexually abused and stripped of dignity and all forms of human rights. It is not unheard of also, that children in orphanages, care-homes, are not given the tools to help them evolve into functional adults, but abused for their “difficult” behavior as a form of discipline; molested, and some even raped.

I’ve been in the NGO circle for more than 3 years now. Although my cause has nothing to do with human rights now, I have seen it, lived through it, agonized through it, and experience repeated failures of trying to make a change in improving the help-service providers caregiving methods and sensitivity. I was a trained trainer in addressing gender based violence and introducing coping strategies for gender based violence. But people were resilient, even those of the NGO circle.

The thing is, I see things in black and white. For example, if you cheat, you get caught. If you shoplift, you will be prosecuted. If you knocked a person’s car, you have to pay. If you embezzled your company’s funds, you will be legally charged for it. If you parked in a non parking area, you will be summoned. So why can’t things like these, be done something about? After all, it is a human’s life we are talking about.  Doesn’t it baffle you?  

While you might think that dirty politics are the cause behind these discrepancies, The answer to these questions is ignorance and indifference.

We like to think that as we curl up in our comfy homes, and Thank God for being in a good place, that all the other sufferings and injustice is being taken care of someone else. On the contrary, I’ve learnt that the media and the public has a bigger voice and say. If people in general, were more informed about the long standing issues that our care providers have been sweeping under the mat, we could be the ones to voice out the need to change, to re-evaluate the methods and treatment that the supposedly marginalized are encountering.

However, if we reside in out cocoon, and pretend that all these human rights violation does not affect us,neither us nor our children, will live to see a progressed nation, or a progressed country. 

Workaholics

These days, everyone claims to be a Workaholic. Somehow, labeling yourself as a workaholic is THE easiest way to avoid uncomfortable queries about your personal life, and yet make a hell of a good impression. The term Workaholic seems to be used, in all intentions, as an example of positivity. After all, being committed to your work 24 hours a day, is better than admitting that you have deeper issues which you are unwilling to explore. However, I can't seem to understand why people would proudly admit that they are workaholics, when workaholism is a servitude.


Although many of my peers claim to be workaholics, i can't help but notice that everyone seems to have a different idea of what makes a person a workaholic. I've broken workaholics into the different categories below;


The Passionate Workaholic


The person who is passionate about what they do, almost obsessed to a point of encircling their entire life around a certain passion. Every activity that they do, must reflect their passion and be in line with their beliefs


The Closeted Workaholic


A person who is "kiasu" and constantly worried about being left behind, therefore working his ass off to prove that he is indispensable. He doesn't necessarily like what he does, but works incessantly to secure his place and position. He has an incessant need to be "always on capacity".


The Narcissistic Workaholic


A perfectionist and narcissist who believes that there is none other than himself/herself who can get a job done correctly. Someone who is obsessed about micro-managing and lives by the motto "if you want to get something done right, do it yourself". He/She ends up spending more time tweaking details to achieve perfection, rather than coming up with ideas for new projects.


The Fake Workaholic


The type where he/she works extra hours and sometimes round the clock because of his/her inability to multitask or manage time efficiently, This type of workaholic is always working at the 11th hour because of the lack of certain aptitude or skills, but manages to disguise his long input of hours as being hardworking and meticulous to details.


The Seasonal Workaholic


Alas, the one who claims to be a workaholic, but is really tying up loose ends for all the procrastination that has left him/her behind.


The 9-5 Guilt Workaholic


The one who is accustomed to working certain hours a day, in order to prove himself/herself as a good employee, to a point where he/she feels guilty for taking off days, naps, holidays, and deserving breaks while others are working.


The No-Life Workaholic


The one who claims to be a workaholic, just because there's nothing else but the Telly to look forward to if she/he does return home on time. This kind normally hides behind the walls of his/her office cubicle and finds his/her work satisfaction as a pain reliever for the other fallen aspects of his/her life.


The Perpetual Workaholic


The kind who is always working towards something in all aspects of life. From work to love to friendship to health to life in generally, a perfectionist who is tirelessly striving to be tip top at all areas. Commonly found among housewives/working moms who are constantly escaping judging eyes.


Am I a workaholic? Been there, done that, and got over with it. I am not particularly proud or ashamed to say that I am an ex-workaholic. But it is a lifestyle change I have decided upon, which has proven to be healthier to my mental state and brought more Zen into my life. The fact is that, being a workaholic is a very selfish act. It is like living in a bubble and working towards your goals and making sure no one comes in between you and your goals. But we always forget that no man is an island. Your workaholic attitude, is bound to reflect or neglect someone who is around you. As lonely as the loneliest man on the planet, your actions will always impact someone or two out there.
We are not Drones, especially in this age and time and we should not indenture ourselves to such servitude. What kind of culture are we inculcating to the future generation? Work till your last breath because that is the one thing that will keep you alive and successful?

We are a workaholic society, oh yes we are, in one way or another. We live in a culture that is enslaved by work and we will fall short of acceptable expectations if we choose to etch away from that culture.

Instead of trumpeting about family or kinship values, we worry about fitting into our society places and career achievement than it does on parenting skills. Work is where it is at. In our twisted culture, work is the your friend, your life partner, your family.

If you have proudly labelled yourself as a Workaholic, then maybe it is time to take a few seconds, to reconsider if you are truly at peace with your priorities in the order which they are in.

Day 3 to Day 5 Updates

Just in case you think I have abandoned my " 5kg off  The Scale" regimen, I have most certainly not.

Day 3
Ran 3.5km in 30 minutes, until I realised I forgot to put the padlock on my locker, sprinted all the way to the changing room
( that i count as a calorie burn ), checked my belongings, secured it, and ran back down to do more lunges, ab crunches and spent another 15 minutes on the Wave machine ( the machine that mimic skiing leg movements )

Day 4
Ran 6km in 45 minutes, plopped on the ball to do crunches and then further tortured myself for 45 minutes of spinning class. (spinning class gives you a sore ass if you don't wear proper biking pants, tested and proven!)

Day 5

Rest, but I took the opportunity to do home crunches and other funky flexing with my Big Ball at home.Couldn't do much, Piggy was annoying me by tugging on my hair everytime i did a tummy crunch on the ball.. Felt guilty because I had a quarter of a roast chicken for dinner and 4 spoonfuls of sinful mash potatoes which I made the waiter take away before I was done,

Jaja says I have determination, I say I watch to much of Channel E. huhuhu

"The Ghost of The Ex-Boyfriend"

I was chatting with a few friends yesterday. Everyone's life seems to have undergone a facelift. After all, it's been almost a year since I last spoke to them. One year is plenty of time for changes. One of them initiated the breakup and the other got ditched, while I gave up my expertise and landed in a job with a whole new world. While having our three way Msn chatting frenzy, trying to keep up with each another's stories, a particular topic which stuck through the rest of the conversation were about ex-boyfriends

A little disclaimer here, I was the listening ( or rather reading ) party as I didn't have much to share. But these two girls were on opposite poles as to why their relationship ended. And yet they had the same complaints about their ex-boyfriends.

Exhibit A - Dumped her boyfriend because he was "emotionally retarded". Although their relationship lasted 4 years, it was an easy dump because she had a back-up candidate who was more sensitive and adventurous. So, finally giving up on a man who would not give up on Warcraft, futsal and "mamaking" with the guys, she took a chance on a doctor who would make endless romantic love to her every waking and "non-oncall" seconds he had. 


Ex's Progress - He is dating a girl younger than her, way more beautiful than her ( so she says ), and he is a changed man. No more glasses, no more soaking in overnight singlets and sweaty sweats. He goes to salons and not barbers for hair cuts, looks younger because he seems happier


Exhibit B - The one with the cheating boyfriend of 8 years who would always come back for more forgiveness. While she always eventually forgave, and blamed it on herself. He was the sort who was incapable of commitment. She is pretty, has a hot career and a hot body, and a darling to anyone who knows her. One day, he finally dumped her, because she was "merajuking" with him for more than a week, after catching him red-handed again. 


Ex's Progress - Within 6 months of their break up, he settled down with the girl her cheated on her with. To make matters worse, it wasn't that he made her pregnant. He was in love and willing. And she was 10 pounds heavier than exhibit A, probably thrice uglier than exhibit A and worked in a call centre, while exhibit A was a high flying journalist. 

So what were their problems? Well, they were both baffled. Baffled by the fact that they always thought themselves to be the victim of the relationship, the lesser evil of both, the one who deserved better for the good people that they are. But while their lives moved on to relatively greener pastures, they simply couldn't take the lying down of their ex's life moving on the greener pastures of ALL greener pastures!
They were even more baffled by the changes that their Exes have gone through. All those years of trying to change them to cater to their emotional needs, and then Wham! Some other twinky or fugly manages to do it in the matter of months.

This proves that no matter who you date, no matter how awful your relationship is, and no matter how long the relationship ended, you will always live in the ghost of your Exes  if they achieved a milestone before you do; i.e; getting married first, looking better after the break up bounce-back. It's always a competition to who benefited most out of a break up

Best way to deal with this? Total disconnection or cut-off. I know it sounds petty and childish and not to mention brash , but whats pettier than this is to bathe in jealousy over someone whom you thought of as "not-worth" your time and youth.

My Superman...

You know you've found the right man, when you look at him and envision your whole life together. You don't think about the lusty part, only the "together forever after" part. I know it sounds corny, and for some people a recipe for disaster. But you'll simply know it when you meet him.

The very first time I met "him", I felt a familiar warmth, the warmth of knowing that this total stranger, is least likely to be the type to judge me. Every touch made me tingle, from a simple nudging back to the sidewalk to keep me safe from oncoming traffic, to the brushing of shoulders when we walked on tight spaced pavements. I remember the ridiculously happy and nervous feeling I had, when we were going out on dinner dates. I remember the first time I felt butterflies in my stomach when we kissed, even though it wasn't either of our first kiss.

"He" turned out to be the person I was intoxicated with, even though he was hundreds of thousands miles away for years. I didn't know him well, but I longed to know him better. I pushed away everyone that came my way, because they weren't "him". It was silly, senseless, dangerously delusional, but I knew that if i didn't take a chance on "him", I would regret it for life.

So here we are, almost 5 years and counting on. Through ups and downs, through squabbles and giggles. Is he the perfect romantic? No.. Is he the outgoing party-goer? Double no.. But he is everything and more than what I envisioned my soul mate to be. Better still, we have a love story that will put the mother of all love stories to shame!

He is the man who doesn't laugh at me when I drool on his bed. He is the man who embraces my fat and thin days, and is still proud of me. He is the one who; watches me talk with my mouth full, burp after a meal, pull a wedgie out of my crack, cry over sappy movies, scratch my itchy legs, endure my tragic shopping habits, pick up after me, and yet is able to look at me lovingly and make me feel like a million bucks. He is never revolted by anything I do, whether consciously, or unconsciously.  He is my pillar if I fall, and mind you, he never lets me fall.

While I know that I am far from the catch he truly deserves, he chose me and have loved me unconditionally every single day.

He is my "Superman".He is Bernard.. and I am his obnoxious Lois Lane (minus the fabulous body). And I love him in ways that words alone cannot justify..

Yes yes.. I'm in the sappy mood... =)

Day 1

Woke up a wee hours, had my coffee, drove to the gym. Forgot my water bottle, my earphones and shampoo which means that If I use the Gym shampoo, I'l have strangly hair, but I thought What the heck, I dragged my ass out of bed for this. Day 1 is always important. Strangly hair, I can live with...

Battling the clock for my morning meeting, I did;
30 minutes running at 8.5kmph, 2% incline
40 reps of tricep curls
60 sit ups

Yeah I know it's little but I managed to run 3.5KM this morning with ease. Good start!

Looked at my sweaty self in the mirror. Got more motivated to do more. THat's how bad I look these days...

*Pat on me back huhuhuhu*

5 kg Challenge

This morning, I opened my 6-door wardrobe. 

I was screening for clothes that would make me feel less bulky and to my surprise, I counted 35 pieces which I could not fit into, zip up, or pull up anymore. These were just hung up pieces, and I haven't event scanned my "dress" section or folded section. I sank into depression. This was no joke.

I know I complain a lot about being fat. But I really miss being scrawny. 

This was when I was 46 kgs.. I miss feelings my bones and not "flab"-overs. I miss fussing about not being able to fit into XS because they were, well, too big for me. 

I wore size 24 jeans, I didn't have to worry which angle made my face look poofy and I had no problem wearing loose clothes, because no one was going to suspect that I was trying to hide a bulge because I had no bulge! I didn't agonize over my flabby arms or if my pants were so tight they were killing my nether regions. 

I was happy and no matter what people told me about how skinny and sickly I looked, I was happy and healthier and more toned. For once, all I needed to do was to pick clothes out of the hanger to wear each morning. And not the whole "wear-prance in front of mirror-side view-front view" and decide if I was looking too fat to wear that today.

Now I am only 5 kgs heavier, and I look like a wobbling jello. This is me now.

5 times a week, no excuses, 1 hour run and a sensible nutritional diet. Gotta go get a new swimming suit. Old one just wont fit without my boobs popping out.

I'm not asking for much. Just to lose 1-2kgs per month and maintaining it. It sounds easy but 5 kgs is almost 10 percent of my body weight. Losing that amount of percentage is going to be a feat. Furthermore, you might be surprised how hard it is when you reach your late twenties and metabolism gives you a kick in your groin.